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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23084191">Say Something</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonFire1/pseuds/MoonFire1'>MoonFire1</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/F, F/M, M/M, Recovery, Trauma, rebuilding relationships</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:20:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,159</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23084191</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonFire1/pseuds/MoonFire1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Recovery is a process. Recovery is painful. Recovery is an outright pain in the ass.</p><p>Eddie is coping. Myra is, too.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Myra Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Myra Kaspbrak/OFC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title stolen from A Great Big Sea. Seemed apropos.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The days after Eddie had walked out the door were hard. Myra hadn’t lived on her own since her early 20s, and their – <strong><em>her</em></strong> – apartment echoed with the emptiness Eddie’s absence had left behind, at least at first.</p><p>She racked her brain and tried hard to understand what had changed. They had a good life together! Not many people could claim that their spouses were so invested in ensuring they had good lives and solid routines. What was so horrible about wanting to know where he was at all times, making sure he took all medications he could possibly need (even if he wasn’t actually sick), and affirming their love throughout the day?</p><p>Myra had brought that very question up to her best friend Julie and was shocked by the response she had received. <em>“Seriously? You need to go to therapy, like, yesterday. How you two were living wasn’t normal by any stretch of the imagination.”</em></p><p>Julie had been single for twelve years. What did she know about how relationships worked? To be fair, Myra conceded in the recesses of her mind, Julie’s last relationship had been toxic, mutually abusive in every sense of the word, and she had found contentment in her solitude. Julie appeared to be happy most days, and the spouse was long absent from her life without regret.</p><p>---</p><p>The divorce could have been an ugly affair. Myra could have tried to draw the entire thing out. The pre-nuptial agreement could have been contested; so much could have been twisted into an ugly battle of wills, just to keep her Eddie in her life.</p><p>Her Eddie. Well, he wasn’t her Eddie. <em>Her Eddie</em> was someone Myra was no longer quite certain had ever existed. For one thing, her Eddie hadn’t had a scar through one cheek, nor had he happily called the friends surrounding him “beloved assholes” as they hugged their way through greetings and partings in the weeks after he had returned from his wretched hometown.</p><p>He had never spoken of Derry to her prior to leaving and remained tight-lipped during their mediation hearings. She heard enough, though, and had seen the news reports of the insane murderer that had escaped and stalked her husband and his friends.</p><p>Eddie was lucky to be alive. Myra could recognize that much. Perhaps this near miss explained the changes in him – this newfound confidence and ability to refrain from digging out pill bottles and useless inhalers -- all could be attributed to having successfully fought for his life, and won.</p><p>“Are you happy, Eddie?” she asked after the final hearing. All terms had been agreed to, and Eddie did not contest her keeping the townhome for herself.</p><p>“I’m working on it, Marty,” he said truthfully, meeting her eyes steadily. “I really hope you will do the same.”</p><p>One of Eddie’s friends – the foul-mouthed comedian – hovered at the edge of their conversation. Myra gave him a small smile that felt sincere. The man blinked, apparently startled, before returning her smile.</p><p>“I’m trying,” was all she said, reaching out to squeeze one of Eddie’s hands. “Take care of yourself.”</p><p>---</p><p>Recovery was a word she heard thrown around for so many things.</p><p>Eddie had plenty of things to recover from.</p><p>Turns out, Myra did too, and she hated every minute of it.</p><p>Recovery was a process. Recovery was painful. Recovery was a complete pain in the ass. Day after day, she woke up, fixed her makeup, and approached the oncoming years of her life without any of her old certainty about how things would be.</p><p>Day after day, breathing became easier.</p><p>---</p><p>For some reason, she stopped at one of the borough’s animal rescues on her way home from that final meeting. She left with the ugliest mottled looking cat Myra had ever seen in her life.</p><p>The cat vanished for three days upon their return home. Myra knew to bide her time. The cat had been abandoned by previous owners and survived who knew how long on the streets. Myra knew how to offer care and the cat would accept it in her own time. It was good to hear some noise at night, to have something to go home to.</p><p>Nine months later, Eddie called her to tell her he would be getting remarried. “I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else,” he said softly, almost awkwardly.</p><p>Myra hummed, looking across the dinner table to her companion. Julie sent her a wink over her wine glass. “I appreciate that, Eddie. I’m so happy for you.”</p><p>Oddly enough, she meant it.</p><p>She planned on attending his wedding with Julie and would give the biggest cheers at the reception.</p><p>Perhaps at some point in the future, he would attend hers.</p><p> </p><p>//end//</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Coda</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A snapshot into the future</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I want to thank you, Richie.”</p><p>The man in question paused his reenactment of the last time Eddie had thwarted/berated an entitled Karen at Starbucks without pausing to take a breath between rants.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>Myra laughed. She was doing that a lot more lately, and Richie noticed how much younger she appeared than in the old pictures Eddie still had from their marriage.</p><p>Richie didn’t begrudge Eddie his past, and honestly had been surprised by how much he had grown to appreciate Myra, especially since she had started therapy after the divorce had been finalized. Eddie had insisted on staying in touch, much like Richie’s old manager Steve had, and the results were surprisingly pleasant. Myra’s raggedy old cat was one such change – her girlfriend Julie hovering in the background was another.</p><p>Awkward as fuck at times, but pleasant, nonetheless.</p><p>“You’ve left me out of your stories about Eddie,” she continued, reaching across the counter to scratch at Mothball’s head. The cat started purring, sounding like a rusty outboard boat motor.</p><p>Once upon a time, anyone referencing Richie’s standup would have made him cringe. Not anymore – he was honestly getting proud of making people laugh without hurt.</p><p>“Those aren’t my stories to tell,” Richie said truthfully. He could have left it at that, but some better angel made him continue with “You know part of him will always love you. I know you still love him in a way. That’s great, honestly great. The more people that can love him, the better. Eds deserves it.”</p><p>Myra laughed again. “He lets you call him that?”</p><p>Richie winked. “He calls me worse.”</p><p>They left the kitchen in search of their respective partners. Silent, but comfortable. Almost like old friends, which seemed like a miracle in and of itself.</p><p>“You’re good for him,” Myra stated, leaning up to kiss Richie’s cheek before returning to Julie’s side.</p><p>“Thanks – I think so, too.” Eddie’s voice made Richie start. An arm wound its way around his waist.</p><p>Richie didn’t know what any of them had done to deserve the happiness they currently had, but he wouldn’t fight it – much, at least.</p><p>“Does this mean that ---”</p><p>“—I am NOT changing my middle name to Spaghetti.”</p><p> </p><p>//end//</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Canon makes bashing Myra Kasprak very easy. I'm guilty of it myself. I thought it might be nice to put the shoe on the other foot for once.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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